Something you might not know about icebergs: they can escape. In the small coastal city of Ilulissat, western Greenland (human population: 4,893; sled-dog population: 6,000), all the talk is of an iceberg “escaping” from the mouth of the nearby Kangia glacier last week, releasing an immense tide of floes and slush directly into the iceberg bank, which makes it impossible for the local fishermen to manoeuvre in their small boats. Several panic-filled days later, the bank clears a little and the vessels are again on the move.
On KNR – the national broadcasting corporation of Greenland – there’s a discussion about the rising number of fishing licences and the decrease in the catch. “There are more and more fishermen but no more fish!” is the theme of a well-worn, ratty exchange. And yet by 4pm the boats in the harbour are passably full: large halibut scoured and hung to dry on lines also pegged with blue overalls; a minke whale, cut into small pieces and bagged, the decks of the six-metre boat that towed it here flecked with blubber. Four severed harp seal flippers line up sadly in the cold sun. Everywhere, radios blast.
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